Latest news with #Bavel
Express Tribune
11 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Express Tribune
17-year-old Lamine Yamal breaks silence on leaked voice notes with influencer
Barcelona teen sensation Lamine Yamal has firmly denied trying to meet 29‑year‑old adult film star Claudia Bavel, amid conflicting claims aired on Spanish TV show TardeAR. According to off‑air audio from the broadcast, Yamal insisted he declined any meeting with Bavel, stating he 'wasn't interested' and lives with his mother, who doesn't permit visitors. Journalist Alex Álvarez further alleged Bavel intended to hire a photographer to stage their encounter. Bavel responded via Instagram, asserting the opposite: she maintains Yamal initiated contact and sought to meet her at several social events. She emphasized they never met and denied any involvement of money or fame, urging the public to end defamatory accusations. She also shared alleged WhatsApp exchanges where Yamal reportedly asked her to visit his house despite the age difference and joked she wouldn't 'get arrested' because he'd secure her release—an attempt, she says, to persuade her. Both parties agree no meeting occurred, and Bavel pointedly said she 'chose not to speak publicly until after Yamal mentioned it.' The situation unfolds just days after Yamal was spotted holidaying with only‑fans model Fati Vázquez, also 29—who has faced severe online harassment and denies any romantic involvement, a story that sparked its own controversy. Yamal, still 17 and not due to turn 18 until July 13, has seen his sudden fame accompany scrutiny of his personal life. This latest episode highlights the fine line celebrity teens walk between public attention and privacy.
New York Times
20-03-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Table for Two? Try 200.
When it came to planning their 200-person wedding, Madeleine Byrne and Zachary Visotsky chose to host it at the New Orleans Creole restaurant Brennan's rather than some 'big blank space,' or 'boring ballroom,' as they put it. Ms. Byrne, 31, a publicist based in New York, and Mr. Visotsky, also 31, a business strategy consultant, held their November 2023 ceremony in the restaurant's courtyard, which had space for just 20 seats. Their families sat while everyone else stood around them, cocktails in hand. During the reception, guests were treated to an oyster bar and food stations serving regional specialties like crawfish étouffée, barbecue shrimp and grits, and bananas foster, a menu Ms. Byrne described as 'unapologetically indulgent' and a 'love letter' to New Orleans, where both have deep family ties. The couple also embraced Brennan's colorful personality, covering the stairs in rainbow-shaded balloons. And by happy accident, they wore its signature hues, with Ms. Byrne clad in pink and Mr. Visotsky in green. 'Brennan's felt designed for celebration, not just dinner,' Ms. Byrne said. 'Even with 200 guests, it still felt intimate.' Many couples are choosing restaurants over more traditional wedding venues, like banquet halls or event spaces, where there are often more rigid schedules involving cake-cutting, first dances and speeches. 'Traditional venues can be beautiful, but they often start as blank canvases,' said Bronson van Wyck, a founder of the New York-based event design and production firm Van Wyck & Van Wyck. 'A restaurant comes with everything you need already in place: an expertly designed space, built-in ambience, a seasoned team, and, most importantly, a kitchen that knows exactly what it does best.' In addition, he said, a restaurant 'strips away the pressure, ditches the script and lets the couple actually enjoy their own party.' In a pre-dinner speech at their wedding last New Year's Eve at the Middle Eastern restaurant Bavel in Los Angeles, Julia Levy Scherer and Josh Scherer encouraged guests to 'let loose, be messy, and eat with their hands.' Ms. Scherer, 31, an executive for a collection of marketing agencies in Los Angeles, and Mr. Scherer, 32, the executive director of culinary content at an entertainment company, provided custom wet naps, designed by the bride. 'We're both over 30, which means we've been to dozens of friends' weddings at this point,' Ms. Scherer said. 'There was one wedding in particular where we watched at least 20 plates of dry chicken breast and unseasoned baby vegetables go completely untouched by the guests. It seemed bizarre to pay thousands of dollars for food that no one seems to actually enjoy. That's when we said, screw it, we're renting out our favorite restaurant in the city.' Their family-style menu included what Ms. Scherer described as 'food you have to throw yourself into,' like hummus with duck 'nduja, and lamb neck shawarma. 'It was awesome to see friends who aren't traditionally big food people get their minds absolutely blown by a plate of roasted mushrooms,' she said. 'Something I heard a lot was 'Bavel has been on my list forever.' It felt like we were inviting people into our world.' Bridget Dawson, the founder of Merilina Events in Kingston, N.Y., said restaurant weddings are 'all about creating an environment that feels authentic to the couple and their relationship and reflects how they would naturally celebrate in every other part of their lives.' Only perhaps a bit more extraordinary. 'Getting dressed up and entering a familiar space for a special occasion and seeing the space dressed up, too, feels special,' said Serena Merriman, the founder of Merriman Events in New York. Instead of a traditional cake cutting, the Scherers fed each other harissa prawns. They had a huppah built to fit the restaurant's patio, and moved inside for dinner and dancing. (They even danced the hora to a techno remix of 'Hava Nagila.') Pieces of kale and sprigs of rosemary were used in the flower arrangements; fruits and vegetables doubled as table décor; and Ms. Scherer's bouquet featured an artichoke. 'People are growing tired of the traditional wedding timeline, which can feel rigid, scripted, and like it's working against the fun instead of creating it,' said Mr. van Wyck, who has seen an increase in restaurant celebrations. 'Restaurant weddings naturally strip away those formalities. No room for a dance floor? That means no awkward first dance, just dancing around the tables or, better yet, on them.' Julia Canon, 30, who works in advertising in New York, described her September wedding celebration with Frank Canon, a business development lead, as 'one big magical dinner party.' The couple, both 30, hosted their 30-person nuptials at Il Riccio, an endlessly Instagrammable cliffside restaurant in Capri, Italy. 'It was incredibly important to both of us that we serve amazing food at our wedding,' Ms. Canon said of the Michelin-starred restaurant. 'We were asking our guests to fly all the way to Italy — it had to be great.' Apart from the Mediterranean fare, Ms. Canon, who has a self-described sweet tooth, chose Il Riccio for its famed dessert room, which the restaurant opened for the event. 'It was a huge hit with our guests and one of everyone's favorite memories of the night,' she said, describing treats from gelato and lemon tarts to cannolis and crème puffs. 'We did not want our wedding to feel like a 'traditional' wedding,' she said, 'and I think having it at a restaurant helped us achieve that feeling.' Kari Costas, 36, a director of resort experiences, and David Nathans, 33, a chef in Hudson, N.Y., decided on a restaurant wedding in January 2024. They hosted 40 guests at Al di Là, an Italian trattoria in Brooklyn, where the couple had spent one of their first dates and held many birthday celebrations and weeknight dinners later. 'When I tried their chocolate pear tart for dessert, I said I wanted it to be our wedding cake, regardless of where we got married,' Ms. Costas said. It was. The restaurant's chef and owner, Anna Klinger, said there had been a 30 percent increase in wedding inquiries last year over the previous year. Other restaurants have also reported a rise. Sepia, in Chicago, has seen inquiries nearly double over the last 12 months, with most coming in the current first quarter, according to Josh Zeigler, the private events sales manager. And at Brennans, wedding-related events are up 30 percent since 2023, the restaurant's senior sales manager, Ashley Hill, said. At their wedding, Ms. Costas and Mr. Nathans covered each long rectangular dining table with butcher paper and placed crayons in julep cups for guests to doodle with. Antique dishes collected by Ms. Klinger were paired with the 'charming yet unfussy' pressed tin ceilings, mismatched chandeliers, heavy velvet drapes, worn tile floors and cheerful yellow wallpaper. In advance of the ceremony, Ms. Costas drank a glass of champagne with Ms. Klinger, and during dinner Mr. Nathans 'played sommelier,' making sure not a glass went empty. They ended the night grabbing pizza at the neighborhood dive, Canal Bar. 'I still have sauce stains on my Manolos,' Ms. Costas said.
Los Angeles Times
14-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
L.A. Affairs: My fling's words took me by surprise. ‘I'm not committed to you'
It was a beautiful February day in Los Angeles after the fires. The sun burned hot overhead. I pulled my Ducati motorcycle into a spot outside his restaurant in the Arts District. I was hot, thirsty, hungry — three simple needs that instantly faded when I saw him. Michael. Even with my darkened helmet shield, our eyes locked. He was wheeling produce up the ramp to the kitchen, his movements as familiar to me as my own breath. For a moment, time slowed. The weight of unspoken words, of unresolved heartbreak, of unanswered questions hung between us. I had spent two months trying to make sense of the silence he left me in. The last time we spoke, he had dropped a bomb on me late on a Friday night, a few days before Christmas, in the casual way only he could. 'I'm not committed to you,' he said. Just like that, a simple sentence out of the blue that blindsided me. And then, the knife twisted. 'I really like this woman in San Diego. I'm seeing her at Christmas.' I could still hear the words, feel the numbness settle in, like a short circuit in my brain. Hadn't we just spent a perfect weekend in L.A.? Having dinner at Bavel, watching Liverpool play, the quiet intimacy of me reading while he walked his dogs. Hadn't we just gone to the Bread Lounge for my favorite pastry, taken his vintage BMW for a ride, shared a moment that felt uniquely ours? And what about the sweetness of those two days in Orange County: dinner, the Christmas play in Laguna, the laughter in the photo booth at A Restaurant, just like our first date 18 months prior, giggling and capturing our undeniable joy in snapshots? The memories flooded in as I sat on my Ducati, wondering why he was here, why his restaurant, which he was selling, hadn't yet closed escrow and why this pain still gripped me. Why had he gone dead silent after treating me so carelessly? His last text on Dec. 31 saying he was OK, he needed time, he'd been sick, but would be in touch felt like an echo in an empty canyon. I gave him time. But what I got in return was nothing. And nothing is a kind of cruelty all its own. Michael's voice jolted me. 'Rainie, I'm late! I don't have time to talk to you.' I motioned him over. The heat pressed against my face as I pulled off my helmet and then my leather jacket. I met his gaze and asked the question that had burned inside me for weeks since the last time we spoke in December and his last text on Dec. 31. 'Why did you ghost me? Ghosting was what you do to strangers — to people who don't matter.' Had I really meant so little to him? He had no real answer, just a feeble, 'I thought it was better this way for you.' He agreed we could make a plan to talk 'later,' sometime after the restaurant closed escrow, which was still up in the air. Then he told me to make myself at home in the restaurant and he told his staff to take care of me. Then he was gone. I should have left too. But I stayed. Sitting at the bar, I found myself in conversation with a stranger. Another Ducati rider. Tim. Three seats down, he had chimed in when the bartender asked about my bike. Within minutes, we were deep in conversation, drawn together by something simple, something easy. I glanced at my watch — 3:09 p.m. What! How did it get so late? I had to get up to Mt. Wilson before it got dark and cold. I handed Tim my card and left, expecting nothing. That night, he texted. Then he called. For three hours, I was laughing — genuinely laughing for the first time in months. Two days later, Tim and I met for a relaxed dinner at the Farmhouse in Roger's Gardens. Afterward, when he kissed me, it wasn't just lips meeting — it was a balm, a quiet reassurance that I was still here, still capable of connection, still alive. The next morning, he skipped out on his conference and brought me breakfast in bed. We decided to ride together. But first, a stop at the motorcycle shop and then a half-hour appointment at my oncologist's office. When I stepped out, there he was — on his Ducati, next to mine, waiting. We rode the coastline, winding through Laguna Canyon, El Toro Road, Santiago Canyon, stopping at Cook's Corner for burgers. The conversation flowed as effortlessly as the miles beneath our tires. His laughter felt like sunlight filtering through a dense forest, reaching places in me that had been dark for too long. Tim had raced Ducatis. He was an expert. And yet, when he looked at me, he said something unexpected. 'You're a good rider and your form is perfect. You ride better than any of my friends.' The words hit differently than any compliment I had received in a long time. Somewhere in Michael's silence, in his rejection, in the weeks of self-doubt, I had started to believe I wasn't enough. That night, lying alone in my bed, I felt something shift. Michael, who had once occupied every thought, every breath, who still hadn't reached out to talk with me, suddenly seemed … distant. Less important. The weight of his absence felt lighter. Not because Tim had replaced him. But because Tim had reminded me of something I had forgotten: myself. Michael's silence had stolen pieces of my confidence, had made me question my worth. But an afternoon of laughter, of conversation, of reaching speeds over 100 mph on my Ducati with someone who seemed to value me and didn't make me doubt myself. It brought my confidence front and center. I may never see Tim again. But I will always be grateful for what he unknowingly gave me: the realization that I am whole. That I am enough. That I don't need Michael's love, or his silence, to define me. The next morning, I slept in, letting the experience settle, letting myself feel it. Then I threw on my jacket, grabbed my helmet, and walked out to my Ducati. I was bursting with joy and ready to go. I was finally moving forward. The author is a personal assistant in Orange County. She lives in the Newport Beach area. She's on Instagram: @rainienb L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@ You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
